Today I Flee

Today, I flee. I don't want to think about the yard or the house or plans for the holiday seasons or presents to buy or groceries we need or phone calls and emails that need returned or bills that need paid or work that needs doing on the vehicles or laundry to pick up or cleaning out the attic and washroom or how I can get closer to the kids on my bus or why I never feel like I've had enough sleep or why I seem to never be able to get to the Y or the reason that I really participate in service activities or why I get up and go to church every Sunday or how I can face more years of doing the same thing day after day. I don't want to think about an actual retirement that I have no faith will come or plan for a future funeral that I'm sure will come. I've grown up but now I realize that I want to be Peter Pan. Today, I flee. I go to where I can meet people I've never met. I go to where I can hear stories that I've never heard. I go to stroll the quiet streets of small towns and to enjoy the energy of big cities. I go to where there isn't a single other person within miles and miles. I go to where I can worship God as I watch the Atlantic Ocean wash the shores of Mount Desert Island in Maine. I go to where I can worship God as the sun sets on the Pacific coast of Northern California. I go to where I can worship God as I gaze in awe at Colorado mountains that are so tall they seem able to touch heaven. I go to a place where no one knows me and puts no expectations on me. I go to a place where I put no expectations on myself. I go to where I can sleep when I feel the need or never sleep if there is no desire. I go to a place I can taste different tastes, breath different air, and drink water that doesn't taste like home. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I don't flee work. I can drive a school bus. I go to find a job driving in North Dakota or in central Nebraska or in the panhandle of Texas. I can do taxes. I go to find work preparing tax returns in upstate New York or in southern Illinois or in the Four Corners of New Mexico. If need be, I can flip burgers. I go to find that job in Ohio or in rural Mississippi or in Idaho. I don't flee to find a job in God's service. For a year I've marked time waiting for that to happen and it hasn't. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I flee with Sara and a dog. I need no one else. I will miss family. I will miss friends. I will miss the familiar surroundings. I'll miss the hoopla of the holidays, but I won't be lonely. On Christmas eve, I'll serve meals at a homeless shelter and thank God that I have been able to flee. Those who are homeless, not by choice, cannot flee. Today, I flee. Today, I flee. I drive when I can. I take a bus or train or catch a ride or walk when I must. I travel light and I live simply. I don't need a multi-room house. I don't need to own many things. Libraries have books and newspapers and computers. Today, I flee. No, today, I do not flee. The desire to flee is almost overpowering. The reasons I need to flee are legitimate. My love for Sara is my anchor. I can't leave her and she won't leave. My sincere prayer is that however long she lives, I'll live one day less. I never want to live without her. If that prayer is not answered and she leaves me alone, on that day, I flee.